Up Close
by MyQuantumTheory
Summary: Sometimes you just can't keep ignoring it... Good old Hotchniss smut.


**So this happened because of a prompt on tumblr. Smut, you have been warned.**

They're already going to be stuck in Atlanta for at least another night because of the storm. He's so exhausted after a long case and a long day that he can barely even bring himself to register surprise when the elevator comes to a sudden stop, the lights flickering then failing, leaving them in total darkness. Of _course_ there's a power cut. But there's a little sound beside him, a squeak, and Emily's shoulder brushes his as she steps closer – his spine stiffens at the sudden contact. "Sorry," she says quickly, and exhales in a little huff. "So this sucks."

"I'm sure they have an emergency generator…"

After ten seconds of pitch black silence, she replies, "Still sure?"

He laughs despite the weariness crawling through his muscles. He just wants to get in bed. "Less sure," he admits, and leans back against the wall. She's beside him a second later, not quite touching, and he clenches his hands into fists at his sides. Of course there's a power cut. And of course he's stuck in an elevator with her, of all people, the only member of his team about whom he has had _definitely_ inappropriate dreams. She sighs, a soft, breathy sound that sends tingling sparks from his spine to the tips of his fingers – he wants to reach for her, get his hands on her –

"You okay?" she says softly, the sound amplified by the darkness.

"Tired," he replies, shifting a little on his feet – their shoulders brush again and he feels her body tense. His face flushes and for a second he's grateful for the darkness. Except in the light they don't have this problem. _God_. "Sorry," he says, his voice choked.

"It's okay."

But it isn't, because she isn't pulling away from the contact and neither is he, and after months of keeping it buried, he can think of nothing but the warmth between them. The tension eases out of her muscles and she leans into him a little. He closes his eyes, tries to convince himself to take half a step to the side, and before he knows what he's doing he's turning toward her.

"Hotch," she breathes, and his eyes open to the darkness. Her hand settles softly, cautiously on his arm, then slides up to his shoulder, and his drifts to her waist, the soft curve of her under the structured fabric of the suit jacket she's still wearing. He feels the slow breath she releases, warm against his cheek, and it takes extraordinary effort to keep himself from responding with a moan. "Hotch, I -"

The second time does him in – his other hand finds her waist, and hers come up to the back of his neck and he turns them, guiding her back against the wall as her fingers weave into his hair and she tugs his face to hers, their lips crushing together urgently. Her hips arch forward and he slips a hand around her back, holding her body to his, and it's everything he imagined – she is perfect, fits perfectly against him, and she moans against his lips, her hands sliding under his open jacket, his skin on fire where she touches –

The lights come on and he stumbles back, breathing harshly, watching the quick rise and fall of her chest. He drags his eyes to hers, expecting regret or embarrassment, expecting to see her think _we shouldn't_. He doesn't see any of those things.

The feel of her mouth on his pounds through his veins, igniting his every nerve as he follows her to her room, his hand held tight in hers and his eyes on the sway of her hips. Her fingers tremble slightly as she deals one-handed with the card key. As soon as they're in the room his hands are on her hips, pushing her back against the door – she hits it with a gasp and tilts her head up to meet his lips, tugs him closer by the belt then knots her hands in his hair, kissing hard, their mouths hot and desperate.

He pulls back a little, panting, and as she shoves his jacket down his arms and tugs at his tie, his lips find her neck, her jaw – he nips at her earlobe with his teeth, and she discards the tie with a low moan, dropping her hands to her sides and closing her eyes, lost in sensation. He takes the opportunity to rid her of her own jacket, and when her eyes open again to meet his they're all pupil, dark and hot and determined as her chest rises and falls quickly.

She brings her hands up to his collar, waiting a second for his nod before she starts unbuttoning his shirt. She's undone three buttons, her leg entwining with his to keep him close, when his hand closes around her wrist. She looks up, searches his eyes. "Okay?" she whispers, bringing her other hand up to his hair again, her fingers weaving through it, scratching lightly at his scalp. She has wanted this for so long the last thing she wants to do is stop, but she can't deny there are a million great reasons to.

"I – yes," he says, his voice so low and choked it's barely there. "Scars. I don't want you to be -"

Her stomach jolts, affection for him rushing dizzily through her, and she swallows it back because she can't think past right now, past tonight… She spreads her fingertips over his chest, over the quick thump of his heart. "I won't be."

He closes his eyes briefly then nods, and the hesitation passes – he surges down again as she deals with the rest of his buttons, sliding his hands up under her top, licking and kissing and nipping at her neck. She gets the hint fast, pulling back so he can get her top up over her head, catching a glimpse of his scarred torso before he's got her pinned again, kissing down to her collarbone, along the line of her bra – she drops her head back, arching toward him, barely catching a breath as the sensation spreads from his lips to low in her abdomen to every inch of her skin, impossible heat pooling between her legs.

"Hotch," she mutters, more to herself than to him, but he pulls back to meet her eyes, and she takes the moment to catch her breath, running her fingers from his shoulders down his chest, settling at his belt buckle – he keeps his eyes locked on hers and she feels herself smile, suddenly coy, dropping her gaze to her hands as she unbuckles his belt. She discards it along with the tie and looks back up at him. "Okay?" she says again, his eyes darkening as she smiles at him, pulling her lip between her teeth.

He wraps his hands around her hips, his fingertips digging in deliciously, and she pushes her hips forward again, her eyes locked on his as she presses herself into him, feeling him hard against her. His lips part slightly, his eyes sliding shut, and she gets her hands on his chest and guides him backwards, pushing gently until his legs make contact with the edge of the bed and he sits, sliding his hands up from her waist, settling them over the clasp of her bra for a second before she feels it loosen, and drops her arms as he guides the straps down, drops it on the floor at her feet.

He tugs her forward, pulls a leg up so her knee rests beside his leg and holds her there, his hand wrapping around her thigh as he drops his head to her bare chest, kissing from her collarbone down her breast. He circles a nipple with his tongue, and when her hand fists in his hair and she lets out a soft gasp, nips lightly with his teeth. His hand slides up the outside of her thigh, around and under, and her hips rock, bringing his hand closer to where she wants it as he kisses under her breast – the breath is knocked out of his chest when he gets his hand between her legs, feels the heat of her through her pants. "God, Emily," he whispers into her bare chest, his breath fanning over her nipple so she responds with a moan, grinding down against his hand. He palms her roughly, his control wearing thin, and a second later he knows he's not the only one – she gets her hands on his shoulders and shoves him backwards, following as he backs further up the bed, kicking off his shoes and socks.

She settles over him but he flips them instantly – she gives a surprised laugh as she lands on her back, her palm sliding up his spine as he leans down to kiss her again, her mouth opening to him and her hips push impatiently up, fingers going for the button of his pants. He bats her away and she groans – a second later it becomes a soft moan as he slides down her body, makes quick work of removing her pants and underwear, and feathers kisses up her thigh. He has wanted this, wanted her, for so long – he wants to hold onto it, to make it last, to give her everything he can while they have this time… Her eyes slam shut and she balls the sheets in her fists, using all her self control to stop herself from tugging his head to where she wants it. He smiles into her thigh as she writhes under him, starts kissing up toward her hipbone. "Tease," she breathes – he laughs softly, his breath hot and unexpected on her clit, and she arches up with a cry, practically delirious now with want. "Hotch," she growls, her knuckles turning white with the effort to keep her hands out of his hair and off of herself as the heat inside her intensifies.

He removes his lips from her thigh for a second and looks up at her – her eyes are closed, her lips parted and her breathing rough as she clings to the sheets and to fragile control, and he can't believe it, can't believe he's really got her here like this. He brings his mouth down to press his tongue hard against her clit and she cries out, high and warm and more gorgeous than anything he imagined, her fingers weaving into his hair and holding on tight, sending pleasure spiking through him. He repeats, his tongue firm against her and inside her, and then her thighs are trembling, her fingers clenching and releasing in his hair – he slips two fingers inside her and she pushes up and twists on his hand and comes with a cry, her muscles clenching around his fingers as he strokes her through it. He kisses back up her body, disposing of his pants on the way and settling beside her, his fingertips tracing patterns over her stomach.

When she can breathe again, she turns, throwing a leg over his hip and using it to roll him onto his back, pleasure still rolling rhythmically over her. She leans over him, her hands pinning his shoulders. "Why didn't we do this before," she whispers, feeling him hard against her thigh and rocking a little.

"I don't have -" he begins, as she gets her hand on him.

"Pill," she replies quickly. "And I'm clean."

She rocks her hips again for good measure, gripping between her palm and her thigh, and he groans as the sensation rushes through him. His hands slide up her thighs as she lines up and slides down on him, torturously slow, and he feels more than hears the sound he makes – she feels perfect, completely perfect, and she releases this slow, satisfied breath and meets his eyes. There's something more than pleasure there, something warm and trusting that cracks him open a little. He knows then beyond any doubt that he wants more than tonight, but a second later she's lifting off him again and everything but the feel of her is gone – he closes his eyes and she rakes her fingers through his hair, and maybe his hips push up first or maybe hers drop down, but there's no room left for thinking – they set a rhythm that has him hanging onto the edges of control as he fingers dig into her hips and hers into his shoulders. She grinds against him hard, and he can feel her clenching around him again, see the pressure in the set of her lips as she drops her chin to her chest – he slides a hand up, circles his thumb around her clit, and this time when she cries out and throws her head back she takes him with her.

Breathing hard, he slides his hands up her arms and guides her down on top of him, her laboured breath hot on his cheek as he rolls onto his side, pulling her with him. She burrows her face into his neck and he slides his hands around her, holding her tight. Her arm settles over him, fingertips tracing lightly over the base of his back. They're silent so long he'd think she was asleep if it wasn't for the slow, steady movement of her fingers. It's so soothing he's almost asleep when he feels her let go and pull back. "Hey," he whispers, suddenly panicked, catching her hand as she sits up and throws her legs over the edge of the bed.

"I'll be right back," she whispers, hearing the tenderness in her voice too late.

He nods and waits – when she comes back from the bathroom she smiles a little. "You can go under the covers, Hotch."

"Aaron," he corrects reflexively, and hopes he doesn't imagine the relief in her eyes. "I didn't want to assume," he adds, a little awkward as he rearranges himself and the sheets, pulling them back for her to climb in. She does, settling her head on his chest and her hand over his heart.

"I want you to stay," she says softly, tracing a scar across his ribs with her fingertips.

His breath catches, at her words and her touch, and he nods. "Okay."


End file.
